He turned to face her, the sunset’s reflection kindling unfathomable mystery in the dark pools of his eyes. The deeper Rose gazed, the fiercer the light seemed to burn. It enlarged, rising out of the darkness like twin molten circles on the end of an invisible brand. It mesmerized her, unlike anything she’d ever known. There was something wonderful yet terrifying inside the burning ringlets, a powerful secret no man or woman had a right to know. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking deeper into the emptiness as it seemed to gaze back at her. She leaned in, wanting a taste of the darkness, her heart demanding it. Bellamy lifted his hand and cupped her face, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw, and then tickled the edge of her lower lip. Her eyes closed as her face neared his.

Then…Rose was gone. Taken by the depths of the darkness.

***

A cannonball hurtled toward her face; if it weren’t for the inferno behind, silhouetting it for that brief second, the projectile would have knocked her head clean off. But she threw her body down onto the deck and stayed low when a wooden pole splintered a few feet from where she’d been standing, two sharp pieces daggering into her thigh and shoulder. After the quick jabs of pain lessened to a hot throbbing, she only felt angry. Frightened and angry and utterly determined to do her part, whatever the cost.

It was something she’d never felt before, not with this intensity.

There was a constant roar beneath the rapid thunderclaps. Ships-of-the-line and frigates alike battered each other with awesome ferocity. The sun had set but the flames from burning vessels kept the night in a deadly twilight, just bright enough for each ship to see one another and unleash hell. Her ship fired a broadside at the line of fixed French vessels as it passed, completely wrecking at least one from stern to bow. An alien thrill washed over her. Adrenaline muffled the pain from her wounds. The Rear-Admiral’s action, flanking the unsuspecting French fleet like this, was not only working, it was a stroke of genius. She cried “Huzzah!” with the rest of her crew when the topmast of one of the biggest enemy ships toppled and came crashing down.

Aboukir Bay was about to go down in history as a great British victory.

She didn’t know how she knew all this, the knowledge was foreign to her, but the emotions—pride, fear, elation, even hate—were as real to her as any she’d ever experienced. Sailing was something she’d always wanted to try but had never quite gotten around to. Why, then, did it suddenly feel as natural to her as riding a bus? Why did she take such delight in the carnage her side was inflicting on the other? It had to be a dream, but it was all too vivid for comfort.